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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29918259">competitive solitaire</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/rxlps/pseuds/rxlps'>rxlps</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Dream Smp, Dream Team SMP Roleplay (Video Blogging RPF), I jsut really wanted to write their reuniting thats all this is, a lil sad/angsty idk, although the title would suggest playing of competitive solitaire it is only briefly mentioned, no beta we die like men, tommy is dead and reunites w wilbur</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 20:42:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>946</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29918259</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/rxlps/pseuds/rxlps</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Tommy is reunited with Wilbur after being beaten by a potato.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Completed stories I've read</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>competitive solitaire</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Tommy felt pain all over his body, the points Dream’s potato had made contact with each other seeping out into the rest of his body, his organs and muscles, blurring into each other as it all went dark.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Was <em>this</em> how he’d go? Beaten to death with a <em>potato</em> after being trapped in his abuser’s cell? It was <em>pathetic</em>. A whimper of a death, weak and anti-climatic. He’d expected a death from something <em>cool</em> or "poggers" like being killed in battle, an arrow to his chest, or a sword slash to his head; <em>not</em> that of a potato being smashed into his body repeatedly as he screamed for help in the dingy prison cell that smelt of piss and rot.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His tangent was interrupted by another whisper of a thought, if he was <em>dead</em> - which he’d assume so because he couldn’t smell the stench of piss or feel the rough ground beneath him anymore - then <em>why</em> was he still conscious? <em>Why</em> was he still thinking?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He opened his eyes after a moment of hesitation, fear that he hasn’t actually passed and Dream was waiting to toy with him again. He was surrounded by whiteness, the hard dark purple of his abuser’s cell nowhere to be seen, a memory. He got to his feet, and froze at the realisation he wasn’t alone.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A tall figure stood some distance away from him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He couldn’t make out any details, it was just a dark silhouette. The figure felt familiar, however.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And suddenly, the figure walked towards him. Tommy’s rapid heart beat (<em>wasn’t he dead?</em>) rippled through his body, his fists clenching.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Then, the figure came to light.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was <em>Wilbur</em>, from all those moons ago. <em>Wilbur</em>. Not Ghostbur, but <em>Wilbur</em>. He felt his body relax, though he kept his fists clenched.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“<em>Tommy</em>." The man rose an eyebrow. "This is a surprise.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was strange to see the man in such a calm state.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The ex-president continued to step forward, stopping a foot-or-so in front of the younger figure.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur wasn’t at all like Tommy had remembered. His hair was the same colour, he wore the same clothing, he still stood tall over Tommy; but there was something <em>distinctly</em> different about the other man as he stood opposite him, in this white space.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“This isn’t what I’d envisioned when I’d said I’d see you soon." Wilbur frowned. Tommy shrugged.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Me <em>neither</em>.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur smiled. It made Tommy’s skin crawl.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s been so long since I’ve seen you Tommy. It’s been <em>decades</em>, and it’s so <em>lonely</em> up here." The brunette sighed. "Or down here. I’m not sure." he chuckled, shrugging; though Tommy simply stiffened.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There was a pause.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Tommy," The older hesitated. “Do I… make you <em>uncomfortable?</em>”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>More silence.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Look, it’s best if we sort this out. Do I make you uncomfortable, Tommy? Be <em>honest</em> with me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The blond nodded.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“<em>Why?</em>”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you mean <em>why?</em>” The younger scowed. “<em>Why?</em> Oh, I <em>dunno</em> Wilbur, <em>maybe</em> it’s because you stabbed us in the back? Did you <em>forget</em> you blew up the nation we’d won back? Are you that <em>dense?</em>” The words tumbled out of his mouth with ease. “<em>Maybe</em> it’s because I watched you go from someone I looked up to and trusted, to a <em>selfish bastard!</em>” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur blinked at the younger, absorbing the blond's outburst.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re right.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy cinched his eyebrows. “I’m right?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re right.” Wilbur shrugged. “I fucked up, <em>hard</em>. I sacrificed a whole country for my own selfish pursuit of relief.” He shuffled his feet. “I may have lost my mind leading up to it, but it wasn’t as if I was <em>trying</em> to avoid so; I practically <em>invited</em> insanity with open arms.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Tommy,” Wilbur paused, fiddling with his fingers. “I’m sorry. It’ll never change what happened, but I apologise.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy wrapped his arms around the other eagerly, he wasn’t a big hugger, not at all; but it felt <em>right</em>. This <em>wasn't</em> the Wilbur who fell apart, who's soul was smashed by the hooves of the second president. He wasn't deranged, or at least not <em>as</em> deranged as he once was. Death had brought him peace, and such peace gave him time to heal.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur felt and smelt different. His shirt wasn’t grossly sweaty, and his hair wasn’t greasy anymore. He smelt fresh, unlike the concoction of sweat, grime and god knows what else he stank of whilst alive. And when his arms wrapped around him, The skin of his exposed arm was soft and smooth, rather than unclean and sticky with dirt.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re <em>not meant to be here</em>, Tommy.” The other said as they parted. “I can <em>feel</em> it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What does that mean? That I’m meant to be in <em>hell?</em>” Tommy frowned. “I don’t think I was that <em>bad</em>.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Nonono, your time’s <em>not up yet</em>, Tommy.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There was another lull, though it was less uncomfortable than prior.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“<em>How</em> did you die?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Dream beat me to death with a potato.” Tommy mused.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“<em>Hardly</em> an exit.” Wilbur snorted. “It’s fine, you’ll make your return to the stage soon. Not sure when, but soon, I’m sure of it. The universe doesn’t like errors.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What <em>do</em> you do up here?” Tommy frowned. “It looks very boring.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Competitive solitaire!” Wilbur smiled, something Tommy had to warm up to. “Come play!” he clasped his hands together.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“With <em>who?</em>”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Why, Jschlatt and Mexican Dream, of course! It’s not like there’s anyone else up here.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Thought you and Jschlatt were enemies?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We were stuck up here for years alone together, <em>kinda</em> had to make something work. And we </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> have history together, we go back. Come on!” Wilbur turned on his heel, his coat fluttering behind him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy followed, not like he had anything else to do.</span>
</p>
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